The deck of the Enterprise was bustling as reports were made and delivered. From his chair in the middle of it all, Captain Jim Kirk was restless as his eyes once again went to the navigation console, where a random ensign sat. The unfamiliar man was busy at work, his hands tapping the controls slowly and calmly. Nothing like the enthusiastically fast pace Chekov always worked.

The nineteen year old was always full of restless energy, he always tapped his feet or drummed his fingers as he typed into the console. It was an odd feeling when he didn't hear the constant noise.

The kid had just disappeared. No one could find him on the ship, and after looking through the ships logs, they found no one had beamed to or from the ship at the time of his disappearance. He had simply vanished.

They knew he hadn't run away, Chekov had made plans to meet with Sulu that night, and his quarters were still clean, his pajamas still waiting on his bed.

The ship was on red alert as they searched the nearest planets. If there was one thing Jim Kirk hated, it was people messing with his crew.

~~~

The cells were quiet he slept. Pavel's head rested on his arms as he dozed, the communicator gripped in his hand.

Across from his cell, George sat, his arms crossed. He eyed the doorway to their cell hall, his expression unreadable. He listened to the boy sleeping, his breathing even and calm. The kid was smart, almost too smart. He had so many ideas, and had achieved so much, it almost made him jealous.

At nineteen the boy was on a starship, exploring the universe. George was dismayed to admit the best he'd done at that age was get drunk and party. Though, it was that year of dangerous living that brought him to Starfleet, he wished it had been under better circumstances that he'd left.

From his cell he could hear the static from the communicator change frequencies as it switched from channel to channel. He knew he should tell him it wouldn't pick up anything. He'd done the same thing upon his arrival. But he just didn't have the heart to tell him. Hope was a delicate thing, it could break so easily, he didn't want to be the one to make him lose his.

He heard footsteps and his eyes moved back to the doorway. The light shining underneath was obstructed by boots, and he stood, his arms pressing into the grainy stone. The guard opened the door and George made his way to the opening of his cell. The guard ignored Pavel and his communicator as he quietly opened George's cell and led him from the hall.

The guard kept a constant hold on the older man's arm as they walked, not for security, but to help him walk as be hobbled along. His leg, which was vent at an awkward angle at the knee, could barely support his weight as he took each step.

It was the accident that led to The Collector taking him from his ship that caused his leg to be messed up. They did everything they could to save his leg, but lack of knowledge on the human physiology left it permanently damaged.

George always assumed he should be grateful. It was better than having no leg at all, and way better than being dead. But deep down, he still felt that sense of hatred.

The hallway was cold as he waited for the guard to open the door. It was a different door than the one Pavel had been led through. Inside was a massive dining table, covered in a cream colored table cloth.

Seated at the end with a platter of fruits and vegetables was The Collector. The guard helped George to his usual seat to the left of him, and he sat down, relieved to have his weight no longer on his leg.

The Collector slid the platter closer to him, and he grabbed an apple like fruit. George took a bite, them wiped the juices from his dirty, stained, yellow shirt.

His eyes met the other man. "The new kid's somethin' else."

"Yes. I had been watching him for quite a while before I acquired him. He's a rare specimen."

George felt his face heat up. "He's trying to escape, you know."

"Yes, we are well aware. We have been blocking all Starfleet frequencies since he arrived." The Collector moved a vegetable from the platter to a small plate and began to cut it with a knife.

George sat back in the chair, his face emotionless as he took another bite from the fruit. "Why do you invite me to these?" He asked, his voice sounding more gruff than he intended.

"Why George, I thought after so many years you'd know that I consider you my friend."

He snorted. "Some 'friend', you took me from my ship and left everyone to assume I'd died. My wife, my kids, my family all thinks I'm dead! I could be there with them, raising my kids. But instead I'm inprisoned with a psychopath who likes to invite me tea parties!"

The Collector simply set his fork and knife down. He faced George. "There is no tea here." He replied stiffly.

George huffed and tried to stand up, his knee giving out on him. "I'd like to go back to my cell." The guard placed his hands on his elbow and shoulder. The Collector nodded and they began to walk back to the hallway.

"I hope you change your mind about our friendship, George." He called before they walked out. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed another piece of food in his mouth.

~~~

Back in his cell, George gave himself enough time for his eyes to adjust before he moved to the bars. "Pavel!" He whispered, the sleeping boy didn't wake. "Pavel!"

Pavel coughed in his sleep, and George whispered again. "Whaaaat?" He groaned, sitting up. His eyes met George's, and he lost all anger for being awoken. "What's wrong?"

"I just spoke to The Collector. Does your communicator pick up non-Starfleet frequencies?"

"You spoke with him?"

"Does it pick up non-Starfleet frequencies?!" He repeated, his voice gaining volume.

"No, but I can hack it. I've just got to redo the wiring and it should..." His voice faded as Pavel began to think of all he'd need to do it. "But I'd need something metal, like a hair pin or screwdriver..."

George's fingers went immediately to his left breast as he pulled the pin from his shirt. He tossed it across the way, and Pavel caught it. "Will this work?"

Pavel eyed it. It was a Starfleet pin. "Yes, this is perfect." He said, moving it around in his hand.

"He said they've been blocking all Starfleet frequencies. You need to find a new one before they catch on. If you can get a message out, even to the Klingons, it could be our ticket out of here." Pavel nodded, his eyes scanning the back of his communicator in the dim light. He could do this.

He had to, or he'd never get back to the Enterprise.